


Angel in the Autoclave

by missmollyetc



Category: The Avengers (2012), The Pacific - Fandom
Genre: Altered Mental States, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Gen, for The Pacific anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 15:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmollyetc/pseuds/missmollyetc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Head for the exits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angel in the Autoclave

**Author's Note:**

> For [thefourthvine](http://thefourthvine.livejournal.com) For the prompt: Snafu Shelton and Natasha Romanov get hit with a de-inhibitor, as in the TOS episode Naked Time. Is there crying? Sex? Violence? Sex, violence, AND crying? Telling people to fuck off? Declaring a party in the bowling alley?

It's the swirling that gets to him, the stink and the swell of folk around him, touching him like they know him, like they got the rights to his person he'd already signed away years ago. And there weren't much keeping Snafu together these days, neither hearth, nor home, nor red-haired church-goer, but them lights in the bowling alley sure taste funny. They bleed into the clamor of a hundred yelling throats, and now there's folk all up in Snafu's space, pushing at his hips and pulling at his hair. He tries to tell them this ain't it, that this is his ground, his own personal mardi gras, so he's a better boy than even Sledge'd recognize these days, but the blood and the dirt that ground themselves beneath his skin and into his bones, roils up, like to split him in twain tonight. He lashes out elbows and knees, fists cocked like the Corps. beat into his soul, and them crowds part like the Red Sea. The hot seawater splashes drops along his dungarees and laughter turns to shouts, turns to screams, he yells back until they let him free, let him through until there's space for Snafu to breath the air that tastes like home, sweat and smoke and blood in his mouth, even though he can't think--can't see yet beyond his fists, and fuck 'em all, this is his God damn area of op-er-ation and no no 'count noncombatants gonna keep him.

He dives forward, feeling his lips stretch to cracking across his teeth, and spies an angel to his right, hair redder than his Sledgehammer's and eyes as sharp as daggers. Her fists are bloody and Her mouth is carved from purest sin, a body built to crush through the herd of fools swirling about Her steel-toed feet. It's the angel he should've been praying to on the islands, could have carried Her image graven on his heart like his boy done carried his bible. She sees him and the seething wet flush of rage curls in the back of Snafu's brain, ducks low and snarls at Her feet, until he realizes it's him, it's him on his knees and Her above, and She _smiles._


End file.
